Unconditional
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: It is much easier to become a father than to be one. GSR, future fic.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Most of the characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: This story prompted more "discussion" between me and my beta PhDelicious than any other story we've worked on together. I think we've finally reached a peaceful place about it, enough so that I feel comfortable testing the final draft of the first chapter out. Thanks for reading it, and hopefully letting me know what you think. I also want to thank Mingsmommy for helping with the whole beta discussion process, and being the voice of reason and zen-like tranquility;)

* * *

Unconditional

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_It is much easier to become a father than to be one. -Kent Nerburn_

* * *

"Claire?"

Upon hearing her name, the young woman turned around to see the face that went with the voice she'd know anywhere. Eyes that matched her own met her stare for a long moment before she looked away.

He wouldn't come to her; she knew that from a lifetime of experience. She shifted her precious load to her other hip and shook her dark hair back. Steeling herself, she started towards the man at the end of the hallway.

"How is she?" she asked without further greeting. "They wouldn't tell me anything on the phone."

"She's in surgery," he replied. "I haven't heard anything since she went in."

A slow breath helped quell the hot wave of her panic. "What happened?"

Beneath his mostly white beard, his Adam's apple bobbed. "She was shot."

"She was shot," she repeated dully. "Shot. She was shot." Her fear manifested in a harsh chuckle. "Where was she?"

"We're not doing this here."

"Where was she?" His silence was enough of an answer. "She was at a scene, right? Right?!"

He sighed. "She loves her job, Claire. Would you take that away from her? I can't. I won't."

The little girl in her arms woke just then. Lifting her head from her mother's shoulder, she blinked her sleepy eyes. "Mommy, where are we?"

"We're at the hospital, baby," Claire told her daughter. "And look who's here."

Ashley looked around until she found him. Her face lit up, and she stretched out her arms for him. "Granpa!"

He was in shock. That was what Claire told herself when her father didn't immediately respond to his four year-old granddaughter. She needed to believe that under other circumstances, he would have taken the child like he loved her. Like he didn't still resent her existence.

As it turned out, he didn't have time for even a delayed reaction. A doctor appeared with a clipboard and a grave expression. "Gil Grissom?"

Her father turned his full attention to the newcomer. "I'm Gil Grissom. Is my wife…is she all right?"

"Well, she came through the surgery. We were able to remove the bullet and repair the damage to her liver. This is all good news."

"But?" her father prompted.

"But…" the doctor reluctantly went on. "The bullet came very close to her spinal cord. The area is too swollen now to gauge any possible long-term effects to her motor skills." He paused. "We just don't know. The next 24 hours are crucial."

Claire shook her head. "Wait. What are you saying?"

"He's saying your mother might not walk again." With a pale, but straight face, her father nodded. "I want to see her."

"She's in recovery right now, but we'll be moving her to the ICU within the hour." He gave them a sympathetic look. "Until then, try to get some rest. Have something to eat." Another pause followed. "Sara will need your strength."

Claire waited until the doctor was long gone before she let herself breathe again. She buried her face in her daughter's shoulder for a second, surrounding herself with the baby powder scent from her recent bath.

When she looked up, she searched her father's face through a film of tears. His own eyes were dry.

She was sad to say she wasn't all that surprised.

"Come on, baby," Claire murmured to Ashley. "Let's go see if we can find some cookies and milk."

"I like cookies," Ashley told her. "Granpa wants cookies, too!"

"Grandpa knows he's welcome." Claire stared at him until he blinked and looked at her. "He always is."

There would have been little use in waiting for an answer. Her father had slipped back into his mind. And she felt ten years old again, needing something from him that he wasn't able to give.

* * *

In the cafeteria, she bought her daughter a cookie and a carton of milk, and settled for a cup of oily coffee for herself. She probably could have used a stiff drink, but she hadn't touched liquor since she found out she was pregnant. Alcohol had led to Ashley's conception, and as far as she was concerned, the little girl was the only good thing to ever come from being drunk.

She smelled Catherine Willows before she saw her; there was no mistaking the woman's expensive perfume.

"Hey," the older woman said, breathless as she slipped into an empty chair at the table. "I finally found a parking space. How's your mom?"

She might have been in her sixties, but you wouldn't have known that if you hadn't looked at her driver's license. Time had been good to Catherine. So had a plastic surgeon, although Claire was too polite to ever ask about that for sure. Whether the upkeep was natural or not, Catherine didn't look much older now than she did in Claire's childhood memories.

"She's out of surgery," Claire replied, fighting back tears. "I haven't gotten to see her yet. But they were talking about spinal cord damage…"

"I got a cookie," Ashley announced, proudly holding up her treat.

The smile Catherine gave the child was shaky. "You should be with your dad," she told Claire. "You two shouldn't go through this alone."

"I could be standing right next to him, and I'd still be alone," Claire muttered. "He's doing what he always does, and I'm just…I'm too tired to deal with it."

"What can I say, sweetie? He's your father." The older woman paused. "He loves you…"

"In his own way," she finished. "Yeah. So you've been saying for years."

Catherine gave her a look. "Lose the attitude. Your father loves you, and he needs you, whether he acknowledges it or not."

"He didn't even call me." She bit her quibbling lip. "Greg had to."

"Oh sweetie…"

"He doesn't want me here," Claire flatly stated. "And that's fine. Whatever. I only came because of Mom." She lost control for a second, and a choked sob shook her shoulders. "She can't die. She just can't!"

Catherine put her arm around Claire. "We both know how strong your mother is. Hell, she's put up with your dad's crap for almost three decades now. She's a freaking pillar of fortitude."

"Yeah," Claire had to agree. "I just…I can't make it without her. If she dies, I'll have lost both of my parents."

"You haven't lost your father."

"C'mon." Brushing away tears with her knuckles, Claire shook her head. "We both know he checked out of my life the minute I told him I was going to have a baby."

Catherine sighed. "You were a baby yourself."

"Mommy?" Ashley tugged on her mother's sleeve, interrupting them. "I want another cookie."

"Finish the one you have," Claire told her. "And your milk, too, okay?" She watched with great affection as Ashley put her small hands around the paper carton and tipped it towards her mouth.

She turned back to Catherine. "I wasn't a baby. I was seventeen. And I needed my dad."

"Have you ever told him this?"

"What would be the point? Besides. Mom's tried. If she can't get through to him, no one can."

"You're so much more like him than you realize."

Claire ignored this and concentrated on wiping crumbs from her daughter's mouth. "I know this is a lot to ask, but can you take Ashley home? She's going to get tired soon. And I don't want her to have to see Mom here."

"Of course I will." Catherine pulled the little girl onto her lap and squeezed her tight. "We'll have a girl's night in, won't we, precious?" Resting her chin on top of Ashley's head, she looked at Claire. "I'm taking her on the condition that you go upstairs, find your father, and talk to him. Really talk to him."

"I think if he wanted to talk, he would have sometime in the past four years."

"Claire." The older woman's tone was maternally sharp. "Sara would want you to."

She swallowed heavily. "That's really unfair."

"I don't play fair, sweetie." Catherine stood up, perching Ashley on her hip. "That's why I usually win."

Claire stood up just long enough to give her daughter a kiss. "Be good for Miss Catherine," she told her. "I love you," she whispered as Catherine carried Ashley away with promises of Disney movies and ice cream.

When they were gone, Claire pushed her cold coffee aside and slumped down in her chair. She'd do what had been asked of her, but only out a sense of obligation to the two most important women in her world. One of them had given her life, and now clung to her own in a hospital bed. The other had given her a place to live when she'd shown up on her doorstep, scared and pregnant and too stubborn to go back home.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, staring into her mug. But eventually she glanced at her watch. More than an hour had passed. Her mother would be in the ICU by now. And wherever her mother was, her father would be, too.

Maybe talking to him would be easier without Ashley in the room as an adorable, but palpable reminder of all the ways in which Claire had let him down.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks again to my amazing betas/friends, PhDelicious and mingsmommy. And I'm so grateful for all the great feedback you all gave for the last chapter. Believe me, I've heard the concerns that some people have expressed, and I bear them all in mind as I proceed:) Thanks for coming back to read more, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Unconditional

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

The first time Claire had seen her mother in the hospital had been after she got sick at Claire's fifth birthday party. Back then she'd been told that it was a bad stomachache. She didn't learn it was a miscarriage until the first trimester of her own pregnancy, when Catherine told her so she could fill out an accurate family medical history for her doctor. Her mother had been forty-one at the time, and they'd never tried to give her a sibling again after that.

She remembered visiting her mother while she recovered. It had confused her. Mothers weren't supposed to get sick. She'd clung her father's neck, but he'd peeled her off and set her on the bed. Her mother had hugged her and cried, telling her not to be scared and that she was going to be just fine. Her father hadn't told her anything except to be careful not to bump the IV needle in her mother's hand. And he hadn't cried.

He never did.

Even now, sitting at his wife's side as she recovered from the trauma of the shooting and the surgery, his expression was fixed and steady. He held her mother's hand between his, keeping it warm. If he couldn't cry for her, at least he wasn't leaving her alone.

"Dad?" He just barely turned his head to acknowledge her presence. "Has she woken up at all?"

"Not yet," he replied. "Where's Ashley?"

"Catherine took her home." Claire moved closer to her mother's bed. "I bet she fell asleep in the car."

"Sara can't sleep in the car," her father said suddenly. "All the motion…she's never been able to."

It was a strange conversation, but at least they were talking. "I know. I'm the same way."

He nodded. "Yes."

Claire looked down at her mother. In her mid-fifties, Sara Grissom was still a captivating woman. Any hint of grey in her hair was kept at bay by a good colorist, although she had cut it short on her forty-sixth birthday, claiming that she was too old for a lengthy style. She was aging with grace, but she was still far too young to die.

"I don't know why she had to be at a scene that was so dangerous," Claire thought out loud. "Isn't she supposed to leave that up to…other people?"

"You mean younger people."

She shrugged. "Mom got you to retire for a reason."

His response was weary. "She'll stop working when she's ready, and not a moment sooner."

There was a second chair on the other side of the bed, and Claire sank into it with a silent sigh. Her mother's right hand lay by her side, pale and limp. She reached for it with trembling fingers.

"Come on, Mom," she whispered. "Wake up."

They sat there, holding each of her hands, for what seemed like hours. Long enough, at least, for a nurse to come by and change the saline bag that ran into her mother's IV. After taking her vitals, she left them to their awkward silence.

Claire gazed across the bed at her father. She was rarely afforded an opportunity to really study him. More often than not when she dropped by her parents' house these days, he was holed up in his office, working on one of his books. And now that Ashley was in pre-school, and Claire was taking more classes, those times were few and far between. If not for the occasional family dinners that her mother planned, Claire would probably never see him at all.

Her father was a handsome man, there wasn't any denying that. On any other day, his seventy-something years looked good on him. But in his wife's hospital room, he looked much older, run down by stress and worry. And disappointment. Claire was fairly certain she was responsible for much of the baggage around his eyes.

"Are you hungry?" Claire asked suddenly. "Thirsty?"

"I'm fine." He looked at her. "Have you eaten?"

The question shouldn't have surprised her. For the first seventeen years of her life, he had sheltered, clothed and fed her. It was nice to know that he hadn't abandoned that all together. "I had some coffee."

"That was your mother's idea of dinner a long time ago." His voice was almost wistful as he brought his wife's fingers up to his lips. Lowering them again, he cleared his throat, adopting a sterner tone. "You should eat."

"I'll eat when you eat." Her father sighed. "What? I think that's only fair." Claire paused. "I'm not a kid anymore. I have as much right not to eat as you do."

There didn't seem to be anything more for either of them to say about that, and silence cloaked the room once again. Claire bit the inside of her cheek. If her mother were awake, she would be so unhappy with them.

* * *

Midnight brought no change to her mother's condition, but it did bring them a visitor.

"I come bearing coffee." Greg Sanders held out two cups that smelled delicious, a far cry from the oily sludge she'd downed in the cafeteria. Although his tone was appropriately somber, he gave Claire a little wink behind his wire-framed glasses. She accepted the cup with a smile.

He was old enough to be her father, but for her whole life, Greg had been more like the super-cool uncle she'd never had. He was a constant presence in her life, sometimes an even more stabilizing one than Catherine. It had been his shoulder Claire had cried on when, in the fifth month of her pregnancy, Ashley's father had dumped her for a cheerleader.

Greg was one of the only people besides her mother and Catherine who wasn't intimidated by her father. More than once, he'd made Claire laugh with the faces he made behind her father's back as she received a lecture about sitting still in the break room and being a good girl while she waited for one of her parents to finish an experiment or an interview and take her home.

"How's she doing, Gris?" Greg asked.

"She's resting," her father answered. He had taken his cup, but immediately set it aside. "She'll wake soon."

"Of course she will. She's Sara." Patting her father's shoulder, Greg looked at Claire. "How are you holding up?" She shrugged. "Well, Brooke's at her mother's," he said, referring to his ten year-old daughter and his ex-wife. "So I can stay if you need me." He glanced around the room. "Where's the wiggle worm?"

Claire smiled at his pet name for her daughter. "At home. With Cath..."

Her father interrupted her to ask, "How's Sara's scene?"

Greg shot a look at Claire, who couldn't keep from rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "It's being taken care of," he assured his former boss. "When Sara wakes up and asks, you can tell her I've got our best people on it."

A faint smile momentarily alighted on her father's face. "You know her almost as well as I do."

Greg pulled up a third chair next to Claire's and sat down. "Did I ever tell you about the time your mom dropped a 280 pound dummy on top of me?" Claire had heard the story, but she let him go on. He was a welcome distraction. "I have to tell you, it's not as fun as it sounds." He chuckled. "Your mom's a force to be reckoned with, Claire. She won't let this keep her down for long."

"Yeah. You know, I keep remembering things, too," Claire said, tears welling up. "But I can't remember the last time I talked to her, or what I said." She bit her lip. "I don't think I told her I loved her." She tried not to look at her father, but her eyes landed on him anyway, needing him to look back at her. "That's horrible, isn't it?"

"No," Greg said when Grissom said nothing. "It's not. We get caught up in the daily grind. Happens to everyone."

"Mom always says it." She paused. "Doesn't she, Dad?"

Her father brushed a kiss across her mother's knuckles. "We should be quiet," he told Greg and Claire. "She needs to rest."

Claire swallowed. When Greg put his arm around her, she gave in and rested her cheek on the shoulder of his tweed jacket. She closed her eyes, wishing that it was her father holding her instead.

* * *

_"We should be quiet. She needs to rest."_

_Even with Sara pulling on his arm, Grissom couldn't seem to make his feet move. They were firmly planted on the pale pink carpet of his four year-old daughter's room. He felt like if he didn't leave, if he just kept watching her fretful sleep, nothing bad would happen to her. He could take her sickness away, make the itching stop, make everything all right again._

_"She's fine, Gil," Sara insisted. "The doctor said so. As far as chicken pox goes, this wasn't too bad."_

_"Is this the way it's always going to be?" Grissom asked. "Utter helplessness? Complete futility?" He paused. "I thought it would start getting easier. But every year she gets older…and the fears just double."_

_His wife smiled. "What…you didn't read that clause in your contract?"_

_He was just distracted enough by the angry red bumps all over Claire's face and arms that he missed the joke entirely. "What contract?"_

_"You know…" Sara slipped her arm around his waist. "The one you signed the day she was born that said your heart was about to be taken hostage by someone who couldn't even hold their own head up."_

_"Oh." Grissom smiled because it was what she wanted him to do. "I should have paid attention to the fine print."_

_Claire stirred just then, letting out a small and pitiful, "Daddy?"_

_By the time he reached her, she was asleep again, her face scrunched up in unconscious discomfort. Grissom brushed her dark, tangled bangs back and kissed her too-warm forehead._

_"I'm here," he whispered. "Daddy's here."_

* * *

To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: In the past, I've found it hard to find a good beta. These days I'm blessed with two wonderful ones, PhDelicous and mingsmommy. Thank you both. And thanks to everyone who's taken a few seconds to comment on this story. Your words have touched me, and kept me going. I hope I don't ever let you down.

* * *

Unconditional  
by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"She went out like a light hours ago, Claire. I'm the one who's wide awake. We watched _Cinderella_. Twice. I couldn't talk her out of it." Catherine sighed. "That child of yours has quite the stubborn streak."

Glancing at her father through the window that looked into the ICU, Claire nodded. "Yeah. But she comes by it honestly."

"Any changes?"

"Greg stopped by for a little while. But other than that…no." Her chin trembled. "Nothing yet."

"And your father?"

Claire sniffed and straightened her back. "No change there, either."

"I know it's hard, but just hang in there, sweetie." A moment passed. "Claire?"

Tearing her eyes away from the window, Claire cleared her throat. "Sorry. There's, um, a new doctor coming to talk to Dad. I should…"

"Go on," Catherine urged her. "I'm going to try to get some sleep. Before Ashley wakes up at dawn. Chin up, you hear?"

"Thanks, Catherine. Hug her for me."

Claire closed up her phone, took a deep breath, and walked back into the ICU.

The doctor was just finishing his update. "The involuntary muscle twitches in her legs are a good indication that once the swelling goes down completely, Sara will make a full recovery. We're very hopeful, Mr. Grissom."

Her father's voice was dry and hoarse. "Why isn't she awake yet?"

"She has gone through a terrible trauma," the doctor hedged. "There's no head injury, so the fact that she's still asleep isn't worrying us all that much at this point."

"It's worrying us," Claire said, coming up behind her father.

"I understand that it's troubling to see her like this. But trust me. She will wake up soon. She just needs lots of rest for her body to begin recovering." The doctor gave them as sympathetic of a smile as he could muster. "I'll be back in an hour. Talk to her. It's quite likely that she can hear you."

When he was gone, her father leaned closer to her mother's ear. "Sara," he said softly. "It's time to wake up. Come on, honey. Open your eyes."

"He just said she needs rest," Claire reminded him. "Maybe it's better that she sleeps."

"She wants to wake up," her father said with exaggerated patience. "Sara," he tried again. "Just open your eyes, honey."

Flopping back into the chair that had become her second home over the past few hours, Claire took several calming breaths. "Dad," she said after a few minutes. "Do you realize that it's been five years since we spent this much time alone together?"

He didn't say anything for a long time. Just when Claire had given up hope and was about make a hasty retreat for the bathroom before she lost control of her tears, he murmured, "We're not really alone." He waited another minute to add, "Has it really been that long?"

She nodded, biting her lip hard enough to hold back any evidence of emotion. When she felt she could reply, she whispered, "Yeah. We went…collecting in the desert the summer…before."

"I remember." Claire held her breath as he continued, "You caught that gorgeous tarantula."

She released her pent-up breath. "He was beautiful," she agreed. "Whatever happened to him?"

"I let him go." He looked back at her mother for long minute. "I haven't been collecting since then."

She blinked. "I didn't know that."

"Well…when she comes home from work, the last thing your mother wants to do is go out into the desert looking for bugs. And she won't let me go without a partner." His Adam's apple bobbed. "She worries too much."

"Isn't that what happens when you become a parent?" Claire asked softly.

Whatever tentative steps they were making towards having an actual conversation abruptly stopped. Her father cleared his throat. "You don't have to stay here, you know. I can call you when she wakes."

She closed her eyes for a second, just long enough to allow two tears to escape. Wiping them away with the back of her hand, Claire muttered, "Like you called to tell me she'd been shot?"

"I didn't want to upset Ashley."

Claire stared at him. "Ashley is four. She thinks we came to the hospital for the cookies." She paused. "You didn't want to deal with me." His brow crinkled, like it always did when someone said something that annoyed him. "Isn't that why you haven't you asked me to go collecting with you?"

Her father's frown grew deeper. "You never liked collecting. It was just a better chore than weeding your mother's garden on Saturday mornings."

"Yeah," she said, defeated. "That's why I went every time you asked. At least until I got pregnant and you stopped asking." She stood up. "I'm hungry. Are you ready to eat something?" He shook his head. "Right. I'll be back in a little while."

On the other side of the ICU door, Claire looked back at her parents. Her father's head was bowed, his brow rested on her mother's shoulder. She swallowed heavily. In a perfect world, she could have run back, thrown her arms around his neck, and cried with him.

But the world wasn't perfect. Something had been lost between them a long time ago. She just wasn't sure if it had been taken away from her, or if she hadn't held onto it hard enough.

* * *

The cafeteria had stopped serving dinner, but breakfast was hours away. The wrapped sandwiches looked like they'd seen better days, so Claire settled for a mealy apple, a tube of peanut butter and another cup of the horrible coffee. She'd just finished her snack when her cell phone rang. Ignoring the cafeteria lady who frowned at her, Claire pulled it out of her pocket.

"Hello?"

"Claire?"

She recognized the voice and she relaxed a bit. "Hey, Uncle Nick."

"C'mon, darlin'. You're old enough to drink now. You can drop the 'uncle' stuff."

Smiling, she shook her head. "Sorry. It's stuck in my head for life. Besides, it's not like you're not used to hearing it."

"Well, that's certainly true." Nick Stokes' tone sobered. "I just got a call from Greg. How's your mom?"

"Sleeping. But the doctor says we shouldn't worry. She's making involuntary muscle movements."

She heard him let out a sigh. "Damnit, Sara…" he said out loud. "Is your dad as much of a wreck as I'm imagining?" he asked a second later.

"If you're picturing him refusing to eat or sleep or even walk away from her for even a few seconds, you're right on target."

"Claire, you gotta understand something about your dad. He doesn't handle stuff like this well. He never has. Especially when someone he loves is…"

She gently cut him off. "I know. It's okay." A moment passed. "How's Miami? Relentlessly sunny?"

"Relentlessly rainy," he replied. "Tropical depression."

"Poor tropics," Claire said with a smile. "All depressed."

"Yeah," Nick agreed. "So am I. No bikini babes on the beach."

"Don't let Miss Leanne catch you looking at bikini babes."

He laughed lightly. "I value my…um…neck too much for that." Nick paused again. "I wish I could do something for your family right now. I really do."

"You could move back," she suggested brightly.

"Believe me…after five straight days of rain, I miss the desert. But it's good here. I work with great people. I'm learning how to scuba dive. And you know, darlin', I don't think your mom needs or wants any help running her lab."

Claire pulled one knee up to her chest. "We just miss you."

"The feeling is entirely mutual." She heard him take a breath. "Expect some flowers soon. It's not much, but I have to do something. I need to go now, though. I'm about to leave work, and if Mrs. Stokes caught me driving in the rain and talking on the phone, she'd have my hide."

"Okay. Thanks for calling Uncle Nick. It was…" Claire swallowed. "…nice to hear a friendly voice."

"Hug that sweet girl of yours for me. And remember…your dad once sat through a junior high school production of 'Hairspray' because you had one line. If that's not a sign of love…honey, you're not lookin' hard enough."

She closed up the phone with trembling fingers. Although she would have liked to stay in the cafeteria, she couldn't hide downstairs forever. She wasn't a kid anymore. She hadn't been for nearly five years, ever since the strip had turned pink and the course of her whole had changed in the blink of an eye.

On her way out, she bought another apple and some more peanut butter. He had to eat eventually.

* * *

_"Food?"_

_"Mom gave us apples and a whole jar of peanut butter!"_

_"All right. Collecting jars?"_

_"Lots and lots."_

_"Camera?"_

_"It's around your neck."_

_"Of course. Bug repellant?"_

_Claire scrunched up her nose at her father. "Daddy, we're collecting. We're not supposed to kill bugs!"_

_"I know that, and you know that. But your mom feels better if we keep a can handy, in case we meet a really mean stinkbug." Grissom looked over their gear. "I think we're set."_

_He'd reached the front door when Claire cried out. "Daddy! You forgot your hat!"_

_The straw hat he used to wear at desert crime scenes was as much a part of their excursions as the specimen jars they used to collect the bugs they found. His eight year-old daughter wouldn't be satisfied until it was perched on his head._

_She nodded happily when he had the hat in place. "Okay," she said. "Now we can go!"_

_Grissom held the door open. "Ladies first."_

_Claire's pink backpack bulged with empty plastic jars, nearly throwing her small body off-balance as she led the way down the steps. In the front flower-bed, her mother was on her hands and knees, yanking weeds._

_Sara sat back on her heels as they passed by on their way to the car. "Have fun," she waved. "Remember your sunscreen. Both of you."_

_At the car, Claire announced, "I wanna ride up front with you, Daddy."_

_"When you grow another two inches, you can ride shotgun. But until then…" Grissom opened the back door of the Tahoe._

_Grumbling all the way, Claire climbed into the backseat. She waited until he was behind the wheel to ask, "How come Mommy never comes collecting?"_

_"Because if she came with us, she wouldn't have time to weed the garden. And the weeds would grow so much that they'd cover the entire house," Grissom replied, starting the engine._

_"You're exaggerating." She said the word so precisely, and reprimanded him so primly that he couldn't help but smile._

_"I am?" Claire nodded. "Are you sure?" She nodded again. "Spell it if you're sure."_

_"E-X-A-G-E-R-A-T-I-N-G," she spelled._

_Grissom turned around to look at the street as he began backing down the driveway. He took a second to give his daughter a nod. "Almost. But there's two 'G's'."_

_"Oh." Disappointed in herself, Claire's rosy lower lip protruded._

_"But…you spell better than your Uncle Greg." Grissom winked. "And he can't spell in sign language."_

_"I can!" Her little fingers formed each of the letters carefully, this time remembering the extra letter._

_"Very, very good," Grissom nodded, satisfied._

_"I'm a good speller," Claire reminded him. "Miss Backer says so. You have to be a good speller to go to Harvard."_

_His eyebrow lifted. "Harvard?"_

_"That's where I'm gonna go to college when I grow up." She paused. "I could, couldn't I?"_

_"I think you could do anything in the world," Grissom told his daughter. "But why don't you get through third grade first, and then take it from there?"_

_They drove for a little while before Claire spoke again. "Do you think Mommy would be happy if I went to Harvard?"_

_Grissom watched her through the rearview mirror. "Your mom and I are going to be happy with whatever school you go to, Claire. Even if you pick clown school."_

_She collapsed into a mad fit of giggling at this. Grissom made a mental note to get on UCLA's website and order a child's sweatshirt. It wasn't too early to start swinging her interest towards a school that wasn't on the other side of the country._

* * *

To Be Continued 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thanks ever so much to my betas, Alison and Lisa, and to all of you for stopping by for another chapter. Your kind comments thus far have touched me;)

* * *

Unconditional

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

At three a.m., her mother's eyelashes began to flutter.

Claire noticed it first, as her father had finally lost the battle with his fatigue. He was still holding on to her mother's hand, but his chin rested on his chest. It was an endearing picture. She could say a lot about her parents, her father in particular, but their devotion to each other could never be called into question.

"Dad?" She reached across the bed and barely touched her father's arm. "Daddy?"

He woke with a start, and Claire pointed at her mother. Immediately his focus shifted to his wife. "Sara?"

Her mother's heavy eyelids lifted; she blinked several times as if she couldn't quite orient herself to her surroundings. But when she did, and she saw his face, a slow smile spread across her dry lips.

"Don't try to talk," he said, blinking his own eyes in rapid succession. "Just relax honey. You're in the hospital, and you're going to be just fine."

But her mother rarely followed orders she didn't agree with. "Claire?" Her voice was wispy and weak.

"I'm here, Mom." Claire took her mother's free hand. "Dad's right…you should save your strength."

She shook her head as much as she could. "…'m fine."

"You were shot, Sara." Her father frowned behind his glasses. "Would you just let me worry about you for once?" She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. "And don't even ask about your scene. You know it's being taken care of."

Her mother smiled again. "Love you. Both." She lightly squeezed Claire's fingers, then her husband's. It took all of her energy, but she pulled their two hands together, joining them just over her heart. She held them there between her own.

Claire looked at her father through a film of hot tears. For a second, his eyes met hers, and she could almost feel everything that she felt, mirrored back at her. But then his stare dropped and he cleared his throat.

"Would you go get a doctor, Claire?" he asked.

"Yeah," she whispered, slipping her hand out of her mother's weak grip. "I'll be right back."

On the other side of the curtain that separated her mother's bed from the rest of the unit, Claire stopped to catch her breath. She was about to start off in search of a doctor when she heard her father speak, unaware that she was still within earshot.

"She's been here all night," he told his wife. "She loves you."

"She…loves you, too," was her mother's soft reply.

He didn't say anything for a few seconds. "You can't leave us, Sara." He choked on her name.

"Shh," her mother soothed.

"I love you, honey," he whispered.

"Love her, too," her mother said. "Promise…me you'll try…harder."

Swallowing heavily, Claire started walking. Her stride quickly broke into a run. She didn't stop until she reached the nurse's station.

"My mother's awake," she told them, fighting back tears.

* * *

The doctor's exam seemed to take hours. Claire watched from a short distance away as her mother was asked to move her toes, press her foot against the doctor's hand, and to tell him if she could sense a wheeled-instrument running up her leg. She passed every test.

"We're not out of the woods yet," the doctor informed them. "Ideally, I'd like to see her up and walking before lunch, but with her internal injuries I'm going to keep her motion limited for the next few days. It's enough to know that she has feeling in her extremities."

"Could there be further complications?" her father asked.

"That's always a possibility. We're monitoring her very closely, though." The doctor looked at Sara. "Your family's not going to like this, but you need more sleep."

She closed her eyes in acknowledgement.

"I'll be back to check on you at breakfast." With a nod to them all, the doctor left.

Claire continued to hang back as her father tucked the rough hospital sheets around her mother's feet. She was an outsider in the tender moment that passed between them. She always had been. She wasn't sure if it was a normal thing for lovers or partners or soulmates, her own experience with the opposite sex being limited to one drunken night and a broken condom, but they spoke a language she'd never learned. He smoothed her mother's hair back and kissed her forehead. "I'll be here when you wake up," he promised her.

Her mother's eyes closed and within moments, her chest was rising and falling steadily. The monitors beeped in precise intervals. And Claire suddenly realized her presence was no longer necessary.

"Dad." Her father turned his head just enough to let her know he'd heard her. "I think I'm gonna go."

She got all the way to the curtain before he called to her. "Claire." Standing awkwardly, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "You don't have to."

Her stomach churned with hope. "I just figured you'd get some sleep."

"I won't sleep," he told her. "So you might as well…stay." He thought for a second. "I could use some coffee."

The apple and the peanut butter were still in her purse, untouched, but she nodded her agreement. "There's a Starbucks down the street that's open all night."

"Well." He shrugged. "I guess that counts."

* * *

One of Claire's favorite chores as a kid had been refilling her father's coffee cup. From the time she was old enough to lift the heavy pot, she'd taken great joy in pouring him a fresh cup whenever he ran low.

_Look_, he would say when he was ready for a second or third round. _My coffee's gone again. How do you suppose that keeps happening?_

_Daddy,_ she would laugh and point to the rim of his mug. _It's because there's a hole in your cup!_

He still took his coffee black. She ordered a non-fat latte and loaded it down with sugar.

They were the only customers at four in the morning; they took their drinks to the far corner and sat down on opposite sides of a small, round table.

For a few minutes, they sipped in silence. Under the table, Claire twisted her class ring around her finger.

"So…what classes are you taking this semester?"

He'd asked the same thing during the last family dinner only a week earlier. She chose to believe that stress had affected his memory. Although it would have been easier to believe that he just hadn't been listening to her answer. "Organic chemistry, calculus and Spanish."

"That's a lot for you." He hesitated. "I mean…with Ashley and all…"

"Preschool is a great thing," Claire murmured. "She's the smartest in her class, Dad. If you ask her, she'll draw you a picture."

Her father nodded noncommittally. "And you're working at the library part-time?"

"It pays the rent."

He frowned. "Catherine is still charging you rent?"

"No. It's my choice to help her with the mortgage." Claire paused. "I owe her a lot more than that."

Her father cleared his throat. "Organic chemistry…how are you finding that?"

"A challenge," she replied a few seconds later. He had steered the conversation back to its polite and vague roots. "Mom's been helping me."

"I didn't know that."

"You could have. If you'd wanted to know before now." She bit her lip. "Look, we don't have to do this."

"Claire…" He lifted his shoulders helplessly. "I'm trying."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Because Mom asked you to."

He stared into his coffee, avoiding eye contact. "That's not the only reason I'm here." When he noticed her stand, he looked up. "What are you doing?"

"I'm letting you off the hook, Dad. Because frankly, I'd rather sit at Mom's side in complete silence than have this very civil, very lifeless conversation."

"Sit down, Claire." He hadn't given her a direct order in a long time. Instinctually, she lowered herself back into her chair. "What do you want from me?" he asked, lowering his voice in deference to the two bored baristas who weren't trying very hard not to listen in.

Looking at him, Claire could see that his eyes were bloodshot. She worded her response very carefully. "I want you to…talk to me. Really talk to me." Watching him, she instinctively knew she'd already lost the fight. "But…I don't see that happening. You're never going to talk about how I ruined every single plan you had for me."

"Was I wrong to have plans for you? You're a parent now, as you like to point out. Do you have hopes for Ashley?"

"Of course. But I also know that not everyone is perfect." Claire blinked back fresh tears. "Not everyone does it just right, Dad. High school to college to grad school to…marriage and then children. There's no right way to have a life." She shook her head. "But you can't forgive me for making my own way."

"Your own way left you seven months pregnant at your high school graduation," he said tersely. "It made you pass up the chance for a full scholarship to Berkeley."

"No, I did that, Dad. Because I thought being with my family and taking care of my daughter was more important. You're the one who taught me self-sufficiency."

He folded his arms. "How self-sufficient can you be, living in Catherine's guest house?"

"A lot more than I would have been if I'd let you and Mom take care of everything," she snapped back. Her tone softened. "I didn't want you to have to clean up my mess."

"You're our child, Claire," he reminded her with an edge of desperation. "Our child…you were a child!"

"No, I wasn't. Not after that night."

Her father shook his head. "Making an adult mistake does not make you an adult."

"Is that really how you think about your granddaughter?" Claire whispered. "As a mistake?"

Astonishment darted across his face. He blinked, seemingly at a loss for words. "I won't even dignify that with an answer," he eventually said. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she waited for him to go on. "You could have done anything. Been anything. Gone anywhere. Med school, law school, backpacking through Europe, Peace Corps…absolutely anything."

"But instead…I stayed in Las Vegas, had a baby, and started taking night classes at UNLV." She shrugged. "I know what I gave up. But every single time Ashley learns a new word or laughs at Elmo or even just smiles at me…I know I made the right choice. For me," she added. "For me, Dad. Not for you."

Claire recognized the blank expression that followed. He was putting up his walls, blocking out what he didn't want to deal with. She'd seen the same face the night she'd told her parents she was pregnant, and had no plans to get rid of the baby.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I told you…complete silence is better."

* * *

"_How long will the silent treatment go on, Claire?"_

_Her reply was muffled by the door that separated them. "I just want to be alone, Dad!"_

_Grissom was at a loss. Ever since she'd arrived home from school, Claire had locked herself in her room, claiming that she had no intention of coming out, maybe ever again. It was not the normal attitude of his twelve year-old daughter. Usually she couldn't wait to show him her homework, usually adorned with a big red A, or at the very least tell him something about her day. _

_She was a whole year away from being a teenager. Was it too much to ask that she wait until then to decide that he was terminally uncool?_

"_I was thinking we could go collecting tomorrow," Grissom tried again. "Claire?" He saw Sara out of the corner of his eye, coming down the hallway towards him. "What do you say? It'll be too hot soon." _

_Just as Sara reached his side, his daughter yelled back, "I hate collecting! I always have, and I always will! I won't go!"_

_Grissom felt his wife's cool hand on his forearm. It did nothing to quell the rush of hurt. "I don't understand," he said numbly. "What did I do wrong?"_

"_Nothing," she said, turning her face into his neck and planting a reassuring kiss just under his jaw. "Come on." _

_He let himself be led into their bedroom. Once inside, Sara shut the door and folded her arms. "The school nurse called me earlier." She paused. "Our daughter got her first period today." _

_Although he should have known this moment would be coming up, Grissom didn't have any idea how he could have prepared himself for it. Confronted with his daughter's blossoming maturity, all he could seem to do was blink. _

"_We talked in the car on the way home," Sara went on. "She's handling it well…"_

"_You call that well?" he managed to ask._

"_But…" she continued, shooting him a look. "She's just discovered the serious injustice that is the difference between the sexes in relation to puberty. Men aren't her favorite people right now." Her lips turned up. "I feel the same way every few weeks." _

_Grissom shook his head. "I'm her father, Sara. Why didn't she just tell me?"_

"_Come on, Gil. Did you tell your mother all about the first time you woke up in a wet spot?" _

_He felt his cheeks getting warmer. "Point taken." _

"_Give her some time to adjust to all of this. It's a big change in her life. Ours, too." She walked to him and slipped her arms around his soft waist. "She's growing up." _

_Sara rested the side of her face on his chest. Grissom felt himself giving in to the lure of her sweet scent. Laying his own cheek on her soft hair, he sighed. "Too fast." _

"_I know," she murmured. "Sometimes I wish she could stay my baby forever. But then I tell myself that if she did, I'd never get to see what she does with her life. And I wouldn't want that. Because whatever she does, it's going to be amazing." _

"_AT UCLA," he agreed._

_Sara reached around and pinched his butt. "Harvard." _

_She drew back and they looked at each other for a second before compromising. "Berkeley." _

_After two days, Claire started speaking to him again. And the next week, they went collecting. But it wasn't the same. Something had changed between them, some indefinable difference that he could feel, but couldn't name. _

_Soon there would be dates and curfews and dances and boys, whether he was ready for them or not. His girl wasn't so little anymore. And she never would be again._

* * *

To Be Continued 


End file.
